Doctor Who_ Hope - Mark Clapham [54]
The Doctor checked Fitzs pulse, his breath. Both fine. He searched for a gunshot wound, but there was none. Then, with immense relief, he noticed the dart stuck into Fitzs neck. A tranquilliser tab.
The Doctor was torn for a second. Fitz needed looking after, but help was on its way. The Doctor would have called for help from Powlin, but his throat mic appeared to have been lost in the fight. Meanwhile a serial murderer was escaping. Fitz would have to look after himself. The Doctor ran into the darkness where he had seen his enemy flee, listening out for any clue.
To his right he heard the sound of a loose beam snapping. He ran towards the sound, pulling aside a crude wall made of flimsy board. He stuck his head out into the open air, and in the dim light saw his prey, the former predator in the allover environment suit, scurrying down the outer wall of the Pier. As the Doctor had suspected, the water below was frozen. A coincidence? Perhaps not, but the Doctor didnt have time to worry about that. He dragged himself over the ledge and dropped, reaching out to grab a bar ten feet below. His arm protested, nearly coming out of its socket, but his grip didnt loosen. He hung there and kicked out, a blow meeting with his enemys head. He watched this man, this creature, this monster, jerk back and fall, landing with a crunch on the ice some way below. The Doctor pulled himself up until he had a proper footing, then began to climb down towards the ice. A glance down a few seconds later showed that the white clad figure was pulling himself up, and so in spite of the risks to his bones not to mention of crashing straight through the ice and being burnt alive by acid the Doctor let himself drop the last ten feet or so. He felt his ankle nearly crack, and there was a painful jolt in his right knee, but he pulled himself up and ran after the killer, pursuing him across the ice.
The Doctors target was staggering, one arm limp at his side, but still moving. The Doctor himself was winded, and every part of his body ached, screamed for him to stop, to just let the fugitive escape, to catch him another day. A few months ago the Doctor would barely have noticed the exertion, but now he just felt tired, and his vision blurred as he ran through the mist. But he didnt stop, he kept running after the man ahead, because how could he overcome the evils in the universe if he couldnt overcome his own frailties?
Ahead something loomed out of the fog, and the Doctor found himself climbing up the side of a black metallic shape sticking through the ice. He didnt let himself think about it, following his target up the surface of the thing, which felt like iron beneath his fingers, slippery and cold. He found a railing at the top, and pulled himself over it, dropping on to a flatter surface. The killer was just ahead, dragging open a door of some kind built into the metal floor. Bright, electric light poured out of the hatchway, illuminating that muzzle of a face. The Doctor threw himself at the man, and both of them dropped down into a confined space. The door slammed behind them, and the Doctor wrestled with the killer as the lights around them flashed red. The Doctor could feel a change in pressure, a tingling on his skin. They were in an airlock, with decontamination scans sweeping over them. The whole room lurched violently, and the Doctor realised they were in a submarine of some kind, beginning to descend below the ice, into the sea. The air in the airlock was being filtered, and the new air was oxygen rich, cleaner than any in Hope. The fresh air made the Doctor giddy, and he received a kick in the shins for allowing himself to be distracted. With his last effort the Doctor raised his fist and put all his strength into one blow, bringing his knuckles down into the killers masked face. His wrist seemed nearly